


If You Could See Me Now.

by AmberEyedLover



Series: Dark Bingo Card [11]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Delayed emotions, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Lost, Missing someone, anniversary of a death, faith - Freeform, loss of a parent figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberEyedLover/pseuds/AmberEyedLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Havent really got a summary for this, just...it's something which has come to mind past 3am and I had to write.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Could See Me Now.

He wonders, as he stands in front of the large mirror if he could be seen, if he could see him now. See him as an adult, the successful person he had become, the tours he had been on. He can picture in his mind, vivid images of him standing next to his mom, their hands clasped. And somewhere deep down inside, he hoped he was up there with god, despite his disbelief telling the big guy _that’s my kid!_

He stares back at his reflection, the pin prickles at his eyes, the empty feeling inside his chest. He wondered if he could see him now, would he recognize him, the changes he had gone through. He wondered whether he would tell him, _son, you’ve got to stop that shit, it’s not going to make things better!_

Stifling a laugh, he leaned forward and rested his hands against the cold glass, large orbs of brown staring back as he swallows deeply, he could see him so vividly in himself. The cut of his jaw, the way his nose turned just that tiny bit at the bottom, the way his eyelashes brushed like butterfly wings across his cheeks with each blink.

If he could see him now, he wondered what he would say at seeing the state he was in, the date etched in the back of his mind like a ticking time bomb, coming around every year. Never getting any better.  
He wondered what he would think now, would he be proud of him, proud of the things he had done, said. He wondered if he would pat his back and smile, or whether he would criticize him and trace the tear filled lines down his cheeks.

He still missed his face, looked for him in the crowds no matter where he went, every country and every city, the hope there, the small voice just telling him to look and do it for him.  
Blinking once, twice, three times in a row, he pushed away from the mirror and crossed the room to where the box sat on the bed. He wondered what he would say to know that he had it still, that he had never thrown it out like he had made them believe.

‘’I do it for you pop’’ His words are low, a whisper to himself as he picks the box up and stares at it, his thumb brushing along the cherry-red wood before catching on the golden catch.

_Make me proud son._

He imagines his father’s voice, the tell-tell hint of a smile behind his words, the knowledge that he already knows that he’s proud of him, that he got so far because of his dreams.

_Don’t worry about me, im in a better place._

‘’I miss you pop, some days I still think you are there’’ He tells the box, his voice still low, before he swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. ‘’im sorry for the lie’’ He whispers as his thumb pushed the clasp open with a quiet snick.

_You are foolish, my boy. I always knew you kept it._

‘’it was stupid to make you think that’’ Turning slowly as he sits on the bed, brown eyes stares down at the box which he still holds in his hands without opening further, ‘’I still look for your face wherever I go’’

_And im always there son, you just have to open your eyes._

‘’I can’t do this without you anymore’’ He whisper sobs, his body suddenly shaking with feelings he hadn’t had in a long time  as his eyes burns with the unshed tears.

_It’s okay to let go my beautiful boy._

‘’Pop I need you’’ He whispered wetly as his eyes trace the first drop to land on the engraved box lid. He squeezes his eyes closed tightly as he took a deep breath, his thumb brushing against the box lid before he opens his brown orbs again and looks down.

_You don’t always have to be strong._

With a shaky hand he watches himself push the lid up to stare down at the object nestled in the red velvet, the blackness a stark contrast against it as he swallows at the lump caught in his throat again. He wonders if he could see him, wonders if he would be proud of him for doing this as he stands slowly and walks back to the mirror again and looks from the box to glass, a shiver running through him as he thinks of how alike they look when they both cried.

A soft knock echoes on the door and he turns his eyes towards it before he closes the lid of the box and places it on the table next to the mirror, his feet leading him to the door and unlocking it. Peering out he takes in the look of the tall man stood outside, a case in his hand before eyes turn and they frown at first before soften with a knowing look. Letting him in with no question, he locks the door again and returns to the mirror to watch his reflection.

_Look at you son, all grown up._

He smiles weakly at himself before he’s being guided to a chair and he sits, eyes closing as he lets his friend work his magic with soft touches and whispered words which he doesn’t reply too, doesn’t have to reply too.

All too soon they stop and he lets his eyes open to stay at his friend, their own eyes looking back with a soft smile as they nod and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, his things gathered up and packed before he throws a glance to where he had stood and returned to the mirror, the box back in his hand before he hears his friend leave somewhere behind him. He knows that there isn’t much time any more, that it’s nearly time to leave and he wonders when to do it, when to touch it for the first time in years.

_Time can wait, don’t rush it._

With another deep breath, he pushed the clasp back down with his thumb carefully before slipping the box in to his bag he was taken with him, leaving with one finale glance to the mirror, he leaves the room and locks it before he’s downstairs and being hurried in to a car.

Twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds later, he finds himself stood in front of another mirror, the lights bright around it as he breathes out slowly, the sounds of the others behind him giving him an anchor to hold on too while he stands there remembering.

_I love you son._

‘’I love you pop’’ He whispers to himself before he finds himself alone in the room, the slight flash of lights his only warning as he turns and pulls the bag closer to him and finds the cherry-red wooden box. Thumbs and fingers numb, he unlocks it and pushes it open with a steady creak, the sound of the lack of movement over the growing years.  ‘’I wish I was home’’

_Don’t worry about me son, your old man is fine. Just do what you do best_

With hands shaking he pulls it out carefully and just holds it, the last time he had even touched one was when he was seven years old. He had refused to even open the box when his father had given it to him with the words of _it was my pops and his pop’s before his, now im handing it down to you son!_

‘’I was such a bastard to you back then’’ He suddenly says, his own mind angry with himself for the way he had treated it like it was a disease.

_It doesn’t matter anymore. You still have it._

‘’This is for you pop, I love you’’ He whispers as he slides it over his head and lets it rest over his collar bones. Staring up at the mirror he breathes out at the stark contrast, the way it sticks out clearly between the open folds of his shirt.

Turning, he glances upwards, nothing but a dirty grey ceiling but for a moment, he lets himself think that he can see to the skies high above, to where he sits with the big man, a large smile on his face as he points out his son.

_Go make your old man proud._

Walking to the stage, he takes his place n the wing with the others, hugging them and holding hands as whispers of good luck floats around them, his father’s praise ringing in his ears from years before as he lets his eyes slide shut and listens to the roar waiting for them.

Around them, he takes no notice as they walk on to stage, his brown eyes open wide as he takes his place and slide the strap over his head and on to his shoulder.

Around him, they all take notice of the object, the small thing they never thought they would see. They take in the stark blackness against his pale skin , the way he seems to be so unaware that his unusual action has caused a stir before he brings his hands up and wraps nimble fingers around it, his eyes moving upwards, lips moving silently before he drops it away again and meets blue eyes.

A fond smile and a warm nod, he smiles like he has the whole world there tonight before he drops his eyes down and brings his hands up again, fingertips touching against the cross which hangs against his skin before they skitter up over the small beads and he rubs one between thumb and finger as his lips moves silently again with a soft, secret smile only for him.

‘’This is for you pops, this is all for you, I just wish you could see me now’’ He whispers as he drops his hand away from his father’s rosary beads for the last time to place his hands on guitar strings.

_I can always see you kid, you make your old man proud._


End file.
